365 Days with You
by Piccolo is green
Summary: A collection of drabbles and one-shots that follow the lives of Bulma, Vegeta, and their children.
1. Returning Home

**A/N: **This will be a collection of drabbles, one-shots, and two-shots based on a series of 365 pictures that a Japanese B/V fanartist has drawn. I don't know who the artist is, but I am truly grateful that they've drawn such wonderful pictures, and I thought it would be an interesting challenge to write one-shots inspired by each picture. I'm not going to write them in any real order, so one chapter may be set after Buu, and the next before Trunks is even born.

If you're interested in the fan art I'm talking about, I've put a link to the website on my profile.

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><p><strong>Returning Home (Picture #97)<strong>

Her first reaction was overwhelming relief; Vegeta was alive and well. Buu was dead, and they could get back to their daily lives; did anything else matter?

Well, yes.

When she suggested that they take their plane back home from Dende's Lookout, he didn't complain at all. After seven years together in their (relatively) stable relationship, that alone was enough to make her think _Something's not right_.

And it wasn't. So caught up in being alive again, she had momentarily forgotten that her husband had, for the course of a few hours, reverted back to his old ways. And so, when her son grinned at her once more and called Vegeta a hero, it was a forced smile that made its way across her lips as she ushered Trunks into the plane. Exhausted, he fell asleep across the back seats almost immediately, leaving her alone with Vegeta in the cockpit.

Her palms grew sweaty as she steered the plane in silence. She stole fleeting glances at Vegeta, knowing full well that he could tell every time she did so. Still, he didn't speak to her, and didn't look her way. His eyes were trained on the sky outside the windscreen, though she could tell his mind was somewhere else.

As they passed over the ocean she found herself longing to get inside his head, if only to see his present thoughts.

_But you might not like what you find._ The thought came unexpectedly, and brought to mind other unsavoury thoughts. She remembered him standing in the tournament stadium, his hair gold, and his arm lifted towards the crowd in violence. _What_ had he been thinking?

Why did he do it?

He had wanted to kill Goku. The idea seemed absurd, and yet part of her knew it to be true. All of these years, all of that training in _her _machines, and he had still had murder on his mind.

Perhaps she had deluded herself. Perhaps, she did not know Vegeta half as well as she had assumed.

She took a shaky breath, realizing suddenly that she was crying, the tears running silently down her cheeks. She glanced at Vegeta, and found herself caught in his gaze. He looked exhausted, concerned, and wary, but not guarded, and she half-sobbed, half-laughed in relief. He was still her Vegeta, and despite everything, she still loved him.

"You stupid man," she whispered. "You fool."

He looked away, his dark eyes focused once more on the clouds ahead. He seemed subdued, somehow, and she recognised it for what it was. He was sorry.

"Why did you…" she paused, licking her lips. She had intended to ask him why he had let himself be controlled by Babidi, but found suddenly that she didn't have the energy to go there. "Why did you kill yourself?" she asked instead.

He met her gaze, and she felt as if she would drown in his eyes. "Surely you must know," he answered cryptically.

She sucked in a deep breath, her vision blurring with fresh tears. "I want to hear you say it," she whispered, her voice raw with emotion.

She watched the muscle on his jaw jump, and knew he wanted to turn away. This was as close as they had ever come to talking about his feelings for her. He was a man of action, not words.

But suddenly, she needed the reassurance.

"I have to know, Vegeta. I have to know that you love me and Trunks more than… more than anything else." _I have to know that we're more important than your rivalry with Goku._

He stood, extending his hand towards her. "Come here, woman," he said quietly. She looked into his face and took his hand, allowing him to put his arms around her. She melted against him, her arms wrapping around his neck automatically. The smell of his skin, the comforting warmth of his body, and the strong arms wrapped around her tight- it was this that made her feel safe, made her feel home.

She felt him press his lips to her hair, felt his chest rise and fall with every breath. The plane's autopilot beeped at her, but she ignored it.

"You know I do, Bulma," he whispered in her ear, and she felt as if her heart would burst.


	2. Relax Together

**A/N: **This one is set sometime in the year after Buu. I often write to music; today it was Brooke Fraser's song _Coachella_ playing in the background (it's the melody I focus on).

**Relax Together (Picture #349)**

The house was almost empty. Trunks was spending the night at Goten's, and her parents were off on an extended weekend away, leaving her with plenty of time to work on her various projects.

It had been a bright morning. With the knowledge that it was a sunny day outside taunting her, she found it hard to focus on anything in her basement laboratory. Restless, she moved from project to project, working on each for no more than five minutes, accomplishing nothing.

"Stupid," she told herself. "Stop wasting time." But her feet moved towards the door, and she didn't look back.

She met Vegeta in the kitchen. "It's the first time I've seen the sun in days," she said conversationally, nodding towards the windows. "I couldn't stay cooped up in my lab; I was getting nowhere."

He grunted in reply, turning his back to her in order to rifle through the fridge. For the first time she noticed that he wore relaxed clothes rather than his training gear, and she cocked her head to the side, examining him from head to toe.

"What are you up to today?"

He shrugged, pulling out a large box of bought sandwiches and placing it on the kitchen counter, and she saw the way he limped slightly.

"Ankle playing up again?" she asked. "I told you not to train so hard on it yesterday."

"Have I ever told you how irritating you are?" he asked, still managing to glare at her while shoving an entire sandwich in his mouth.

"Many times; do you think I care?" she quipped. "Come outside with me," she added, before he could reply. Picking up the box of sandwiches with a grunt- the damn thing was heavy- she turned and headed for the stairs, trusting the well-known fact that a hungry Saiyan will follow food anywhere.

Stepping out, she closed her eyes, taking in the sweet spring air and the warmth of the sun on her arms. She could hear Vegeta's quiet footsteps behind her, and strode purposefully towards a secluded part of the garden where a small pond sat framed by weeping willows.

She set the box on the ground with relief, waiting for Vegeta to sit before fitting herself in the space between his legs. Leaning back against his strong chest, she closed her eyes, feeling more relaxed than she had in weeks.

"This is nice," she whispered, lifting a hand to behind her head to brush Vegeta's cheek. The trees rustled around them, and a cuckoo called somewhere in the distance.

His fingers wrapped around her arm, squeezing gently in silent agreement.


	3. The Moment: Take 1

**A/N: **Just a really short one I wrote a while ago. I'm trying to work through a bit of writer's block, but hopefully I'll be uploading more stuff soon! Some people have asked if I could say which picture I use for each oneshot/drabble… I actually already do, in the brackets beside the title of each chapter.

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><p><strong>The Moment: Take 1 (Picture #214)<strong>

She shifted slightly in order to get a better look at the Saiyan without being too obvious about it.

He didn't look _that_ scary. At least, he didn't look that scary _right now_, not like he had on Namek. It was hard to think of him as a bad guy when he stood there pouting and staring off into the distance like a sad loner.

And he _had_ helped them out; he was obviously a smart man, to have thought about wishing Goku and Krillin's spirits to Earth before bringing them back to life.

They did always say that you should keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. If that was true…

"Hey!" she turned, yelling at him. "You don't have a place to stay, do you?"

She told herself it had _nothing_ to do with his good looks.


	4. Cock Block

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**A/N: **This is another one I wrote a while ago and just fixed up. It's a bit silly (I have another half-finished serious one waiting to be worked on). Hope you enjoy!

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><p><strong>Cock Block (Picture #324)<strong>

Bulma leaned back against her desk, smiling seductively at her husband. He sat in front of her in her leather chair with his white shirt half undone and his feet planted wide, and a particularly large bulge in the crotch of his pants.

The Buu debacle had been horrible, terrifying, and very, very painful. And yet, some good had come of it. Goku was alive again, and Vegeta, it seemed, had finally made peace with his life. In the past six months, he had visited her at her workplace more than he ever had in the seven years before Buu.

"Are you here for another quickie, Vegeta," she whispered softly, sitting up just a little bit straighter and batting her eyelashes at him.

Vegeta snorted. "You are such a vulgar creature," he told her snidely, despite the fact that he was licking his lips in anticipation. She merely shrugged, not bothering to deny it. She _was _vulgar, and she knew damn well that her husband liked it that way.

Lifting a hand, she moved to cup her breast in invitation, but Vegeta's sudden "_No!_" stopped her.

"What?" she yelled back, confused, and a little miffed at his sudden rejection. "That _is_ the only reason you ever visit me at work!"

"I know," her husband ground out between clenched teeth, crossing his legs self-consciously and nodding towards the window behind him. "But it looks like _somebody_ decided to follow me here."

She followed his gaze and shrieked, clutching her hand to her racing heart. When she caught her breath, she relaxed back against her desk once more, frowning at her floating nine year old through the glass.

"You're going to have to clean those windows if you dirty them!" she yelled. Trunks' answer was to press himself further against the windowpane, his face squashing into an ugly, piggish expression against the glass.

"I told you not to teach him how to fly," she told Vegeta quietly, her heart still hammering in her chest.

I barely audible _"Fuck"_ was all she heard in reply.


	5. Power Play

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! This short one-shot is set quite early on after the end of my '3 years' fanfic _Decoding the Saiyan_. This is one of those M rated chapters, just to warn you.

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><p><strong>Power Play (Picture# 141)<strong>

He snuck up on her in the bathroom as she was getting undressed, and although she was now used to his brusque manners, the abruptness of his movements as he whirled her around and backed her against the wall caught her off guard.

"Mmmp!" she squealed as the cold tiles of the bathroom wall touched the skin of her lower back, but her voice was muffled by Vegeta's lips, and despite herself she kissed him back , giving into the sudden desire that he had ignited within her. She couldn't deny that there was definitely something sexy about being taken by surprise.

Still, it irked her that Vegeta simply assumed he could have her whenever and wherever he saw fit, and as he pulled her t-shirt over her head, she took the opportunity to speak her mind. "Vegeta!" she gasped, but before she could say more his mouth had captured hers again, and she gave up trying to say anything.

_At least this is better than before,_ she thought to herself as her panties fell to the floor. In the few months since Trunks had left for the future there had been a definite- though small- change in their relationship. He was no longer so harsh with her, no longer so reluctant to show that he needed her, that he wanted her.

"_Bulma_," he groaned in her ear, his voice thick unbridled passion, and she grasped him tighter, gasping.

. . .

"You know," she began quietly, stepping out of the shower and wrapping her dripping hair in a bath towel, "you could stay with me tonight." She heard Vegeta step out behind her, and continued, turning to face him as she pulled another towel around her naked body. "There's room enough in my bed for the both of us. You don't always have to go back to your own room."

It hurt to see the way his expression suddenly became guarded. _Here are the walls between us_, she thought bitterly, wondering if they would ever be a normal couple. She hid her own hurt by turning to fish a third towel out of the bathroom cupboard, before throwing it at Vegeta a little harder than she had intended. He caught it easily, of course, but she saw the surprise that flickered across his face.

"Whatever, it was just an idea," she muttered, pulling her towel off her head as Vegeta silently wrapped his around his hips. She reached for her hairbrush, turning her back on him to comb her hair in the fogged-up mirror, and felt the tension between them swirl as thick as the steam in the bathroom air.

"The child wakes in the night," he finally said. "I don't want to be disrupted."

"Yeah, well, _the child_ is as much _your_ child as he is mine, and I'm 'disrupted' every night with him," she sneered back, suddenly furious. "It's called being a parent."

"I never wanted him," he replied flatly. "You know that."

She did, and as she watched Vegeta walk out her bathroom door without a second glance, she felt sick. It seemed as if things would never be certain between them, as if Vegeta would never be truly settled here with her. Did he even care about Trunks? Her mind screamed _Yes!_, for she had seen it herself in the rare unguarded looks that he gave their small son, and yet the doubt within her remained.

"Damn you Vegeta," she whispered to herself, feeling as if they had taken a step forward, only to have him drag them both two steps back.


	6. Scars

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z, but I am extremely excited about the new movie coming out next year.**

**A/N: **I'm sure lots of you may have seen Chika Croi's new story _Like Clockwork (365 Days)_. She's also using the same set of pictures (I believe they're by kuri_kousin) to inspire a series of 365 drabbles, and I recommend that you check her fic out :)

We were talking and thought of challenging others to do the same thing with these pictures, and possibly setting up a community on here for it. If you're looking for inspiration they're a great way to help you write something, especially if you've got writers block.

Just a reminder, if you want a link to the website where all 365 pictures are held (actually there's 366 haha), you can find it on my profile. Once you're on the main page of the website, click on 'Gallery' at the top of the page. On the next page, click on '365' in the left hand side column, and you'll find the links to each picture.

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><p><strong>Scars (Picture #27)<strong>

It was over a decade ago that Bulma had first laid eyes on the crisscrossed mess of scars that marred Vegeta's back. Her initial reaction had been shock- there were _so many_- but that had quickly given way to wonder. She was a thinker, and couldn't stop wondering how he'd acquired each one. Were they all from the heat of battle, or was that small round pucker on his left shoulder from some sort of accident? It looked like a burn mark, similar to the scar she had on her left wrist. Her scar was from a soldering iron, but surely something as plain as her workshop tool couldn't hurt a Saiyan's skin?

Now she knew the origins of that scar, and all the others. She knew each mark on his skin as if they were her own, and would often map them out with her fingers in the dark of night.

Some were from battle. Three deep lines running parallel to each other marked his left shoulder blade, and Vegeta had no qualms about sharing that particular story with her. He'd been fighting a clawed alien, and his armour had been damaged. His entire left side had been unprotected and the alien had taken a swipe at him, gouging out his skin. Bulma had shuddered when Vegeta told her what he'd done to the alien in return.

There were other scars that he refused to explain- at least at first. It was on the eve of Trunks' eighth birthday that Bulma finally found out what that little pink pucker on his left shoulder was from.

"_Frieza," he spoke quietly, and her hand stilled over the little round mark. His voice surprised her in the darkness; she'd been sure that he was falling asleep. He had his back to her, and she kissed his spine as her thumb brushed over the scar again._

"_What?" she whispered._

"_Frieza made that one. He had Zarbon hold me down while he did it. I'd already been beaten- my ribs were broken- so my ki was low, I could not defend myself. He burnt me with a blast that usually wouldn't even kill a child, but he held it there against my shoulder until I could smell my own flesh roasting. He wanted me to cry out, but I didn't. I wasn't put in the regen tank for a day, so the scar would set. I was seventeen."_

_As always when these sorts of explanations came, Bulma could not find the words to express her feelings- the mad rush of sickening anger she had for Frieza; the piercing sorrow as she remembered, all over again, how horrible her husband's life had been __**before**__; the pride she had for the man who had refused to give his master the satisfaction of his cries._

_With words defying her, actions were all that she had left, and so she planted a kiss on his scar, on his neck, and on his mouth as he rolled over to face her. Naked under the sheets, she lifted a leg over his hips in a promise to give him happier memories to keep._

Now she knew the story behind every scar. They burned her heart, reminding her to be thankful that her husband had survived all of those bad years.

And in the dark of night she kissed each one; a silent promise that there were many good years to come.


	7. Time is Ticking

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**Time is Ticking (Picture #177)**

Bulma avoided looking at him as she moved around their bedroom, but she could feel his dark eyes on her all the same. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as he lay back on the bed, neatly folding his hands behind his head.

Years ago, when she was young and beautiful and sexy, she used to love the way he watched her. Now, as she sat at her vanity counter combing her freshly-dyed hair, all she could see were the deep lines around her mouth and eyes. Her gaze met Vegeta's through the reflective glass of the mirror, and she hated herself even more for glancing away in shame. She felt sick to her stomach. She was old and fragile, and her husband was not.

"You should not let it bother you," Vegeta spoke softly, and she grit her teeth against the lump forming in her throat. "You know that hag is an idiot."

The 'hag' he referred to was not a hag at all. Chastity Rey was a twenty-something supermodel who happened to be married to one of the richest men on the planet, and for that reason had attended the annual Capsule Corp gala the night before.

"She knows nothing," Vegeta added when Bulma failed to reply.

"She knows everything!" Bulma cried, whirling around to face her husband. "She was right in being mistaken- you _do_ look more like my son than my husband!"

"Bullshit. I look nothing like you humans."

"Oh don't give me that shit, Vegeta!" she spat, her arm cutting through the air to emphasis her point. "You know what I mean. Look at me. _I'm old_."

"I'm older than you, woman."

"You look like you're in your twenties!" she screamed, throwing her comb on the floor in frustration. Her vision was blurry, and she hated how emotional she was getting.

"Woman –"

"Don't 'Woman' me! What are you going to do when I'm too old to have sex with you?! I've got bad hips as it is; what's a young thing like you doing sleeping with a _granny_ like me?!"

"Don't be stupid."

"I'm not being stupid, I'm being realistic! What are you going to do, Vegeta?!"

"You think I've put up with you all these years just for the sex, Bulma?" he growled in reply, sitting up to stare her in the eye.

With that question the fight drained out of her, and Bulma slumped back against her vanity desk. "No," she replied quietly. "No." Her husband loved her- she knew that. Even though he never said it, she knew. But her rapid aging- and his never-ending youthfulness- put doubts in her mind. They wouldn't, couldn't be like this forever. At some point their relationship was going to change for the worse. At some point, it was not going to be possible for her to be physically intimate with a Saiyan man in his prime.

She stared at her beautiful, deadly husband, and he met her gaze. His face was grim, and she knew what he was thinking.

"What will you do when I'm dead?" she whispered.

He didn't reply, and the silence was deafening.

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><p><strong>AN:** A few years ago I read on the net somewhere that Akira Toriyama had said that although Saiyans age differently to humans, their life span isn't _that different_ to ours (I think he said they don't age for a long time, and then age rapidly... don't quote me on that though), so I'm using a bit of creative licence here to interpret what 'that different' means. For years I've had the idea in my mind that Saiyans get to about 90 or 100 Earth years (lets say 100) without aging, and then rapidly decline. If it was something like that, I think it would still bother any human partner... it certainly seems to bother Bulma at the end of DBZ when Goku tells her that she's aged.

Hmmm. I'll try and write something happier next time...


	8. Run

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon ball Z.**

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><p><strong>Run (Picture #33)<strong>

He bows before Frieza, his face a blank mask. He still feels hot and sticky – after effects from the regeneration tank – and wishes that they'd given him the chance to shower first, before reporting for this humiliating debrief. He catches Zarbon's smug glare and rage burns in his chest – he shouldn't have to report here at all.

"You _coward_," Frieza hisses, and his fists clench automatically, though he keeps his arms straight at his sides.

"Lord Frieza." His mouth is dry, and his tongue feels swollen. "You wished to speak with me."

Frieza's eyes narrow, bright red pupils burning with disgust. "Right now I wish you _dead_, monkey," he spits. "I'm trying to think of a good reason not to kill you. What kind of idiot signs themselves up for a job they're not capable of _completing_?!"

The room falls silent, and all he can do is stand there and hold Frieza's gaze as the chill of fear creeps slowly up his spine.

_Blood runs freely from the wounds on his head, his neck, and the deep gash on his side. He's breathing heavily, trying his best to hold himself together, lest he fall apart at the seams. _

"Zarbon," Frieza snaps. "Your thoughts?"

_His foot sinks deep into a pocket of snow and he lurches sideways, dangerously close to the edge of the crevasse. He takes another glance behind him, but all he can see is his own blood-stained footprints standing out in stark relief against his white surroundings. The wind has picked up, and he can no longer hear them, though he knows they're still in pursuit. _

Zarbon's smug grin widens, perfect teeth glinting in the artificial light. "My Lord, Vegeta's little escapade cost us dearly – we almost lost a buyer for Nivos, and had to reduce the price by five million to keep them happy, _but _–" Zarbon's eyes catch his, the grin widening even further, and disgust swirls in his stomach – he knows that Zarbon will collect his dues later, "Vegeta is still a boy, even if he _finally _looks like a man – eighteen is still too young to make sound judgements. I say flog him and be done with it – I'm sure the monkey won't make the same mistake twice."

_He can see his ship ahead in the distance. He lurches again, this time falling to his knees, his hot blood draining out, bleeding into the snow, staining everything red. He can hear them behind him now, and forces himself to his feet, every step a painful battle in itself._

"Fine. Hold him."

The burn of the ki whip sears his flesh, and though he struggles it is futile. This is the price he pays for sacrificing his pride for his life.

_He runs the last few metres, diving into the open door of the pod. It is a narrow escape, a cowardly retreat. The ship blasts into the air, leaving the angry natives behind._

His blood runs down between his legs, pooling at his feet.

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><p><strong>AN: **I managed to keep this drabble to exactly 500 words… it's definitely darker than some of the other ones in this series, but there are a few pictures that are very clearly about Vegeta's past, and it's a topic I always enjoy exploring. I didn't have room to delve into what Zarbon had in mind in terms of 'collecting his dues' from Vegeta here, but if I can I'll fill that in later on in this series.

If you haven't yet checked out the We're Just Saiyan community on Google plus, give it a go. They are just about to hold nominations for fan fiction and fan art awards in a whole bunch of categories, including best drabble, one shot, story etc. I'm definitely going to be nominating some of my favourites, as it's a neat way to support other fan authors and artists!


	9. Sleep Baby Sleep

**Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z.**

**A/N: **This drabble is set in the months following 'Power Play' (chapter 5). The title comes from the song _Sleep Baby Sleep_ by Broods.

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><p><strong>Sleep Baby Sleep (Picture #55)<strong>

It was the shifting of her mattress that woke her, and as she rose towards the surface of wakefulness she became aware of Vegeta's presence. She blinked slowly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, taking in the sight of him, shirtless and sitting beside her on the bed.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice sounding drowsy to her own ears.

He was silent for a moment, and in the dim light of the moon she watched the mask that he wore so often slowly slipping to reveal the man she only saw in small moments like these. He was exhausted – she could tell by the way he held himself – and lonely.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Hn."

He turned, shifting so that he faced the wide windows that overlooked the city, and she lifted a hand to stroke his back. His skin was a silken blaze under her fingertips, such a contrast from her own chilled hands. She traced the lines of his shoulders, hands running over scars, before dipping low to settle on his hips.

She held back the words that threatened to tumble out, and this time chose not to ask or demand him to stay. Instead she lay there quietly, waiting for him to make up his own mind whether to stay or go.

This change in tactic seemed to work, for eventually he lay down, settling in beside her and pulling the blankets over them both.

"Go to sleep Woman," he grumbled, catching her eye.

"Good night to you too," she replied, hiding her smile beneath the blankets, as her hand found his under the covers, hiving his fingers a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad you're here."

He snorted, and rolled so that his back faced her, but as she drifted towards sleep once more she could tell that he was relaxed, and for that she was happy.


End file.
